


The Impossible Avenger

by weepingnaiad



Category: Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol (2011)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Clint Barton & Will Brandt Are Twins, Community: trope_bingo, Crossover, Established Relationship, M/M, POV Phil Coulson, Separated at Birth, Trope Bingo Round 2, off-screen bad parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-30 13:55:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1019422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weepingnaiad/pseuds/weepingnaiad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Summary:</b> Jasper Sitwell is in Dubai on a routine surveillance mission when he runs into Hawkeye, but that can't be.  Clint Barton is back at HQ.  So who is this stranger wearing Clint's face and what does he want?  Is there a plot to undermine the Avengers from the inside out?  Phil Coulson will go to any lengths to keep the secret from Clint and, once he learns the truth, he's still unsure if he should tell Clint or not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Impossible Avenger

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [fan art and music for The Impossible Avenger](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1019257) by [sullacat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sullacat/pseuds/sullacat). 



> **A/N:** Takes place after the Avengers movie, but there is no reference to _Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D._ , so this is a canon-based AU which turned into a ridiculously fluffy tale. This also serves as my fill for my trope bingo wild square: _secret twin/doppelganger._
> 
> I just have to say that I was absolutely thrilled that sullacat selected my fic! The mixes she has done in the past are always some of my favorites. You really must go squee over the fabulous cover and the art and the music! My inner!Phil is utterly ecstatic!
> 
>  **Beta:** By abigail89. I couldn't have done this without her. She tries to keep me in line and on track and her help and support are invaluable. This fic would never have seen the light of day without her, but I do fiddle after posting, so all mistakes are mine.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** These are Marvel, Whedon's, and Paramount's characters used in the spirit of creative commons. I promise to return them with smiles on.

Phil tried to ignore the twinge in his chest, the stiffness in his neck, and the ache that was building behind his eyes. He'd been at it too long, unwilling to admit that he still had a long way to go to be fully recovered.

Luckily, his office phone rang at that moment. Seeing that it was Jasper, he smiled grimly, grateful for the distraction.

"Coulson."

"Sir?" Jasper began, his voice rushed and a bit breathless, completely out of character for him.

Straightening in his chair, Phil replied, "Talk to me, Sitwell."

"Have you got eyes on Barton?"

Phil hesitated, thrown off by Jasper's question. It came out of left field, sent ice racing down Phil's spine. _Not again._ Glancing at the clock and his calendar, Phil was reasonably certain that Clint was at the range. He spent far too much time there, but Jarvis kept him from completely over-doing it.

With more confidence than he felt, he answered, "He's on the range. What's up?"

"Double check." Jasper's tone was crystalline, hard.

"Jarvis?"

"Yes, Agent Coulson?"

"Where is Agent Barton at this moment?"

"Agent Barton is in the active obstacle course. He is currently two-thirds of the way through his second run at skill level five, sir."

"Did you hear that?" Phil asked into his headset.

Jasper blew out a harsh breath. "Well, fuck, sir."

"What's the problem, Agent?"

"I'm looking at Barton's body double."

Phil's eyes widened, and he quickly pulled up the details of Jasper's current mission. "You're in Dubai?"

"In the lobby of the Burj Khalifa. Barton's doppelganger walked right past me. And now he's waiting for an elevator. Except for the suit, it's Barton." Jasper's voice didn't waver, but Phil heard the worry, shared the gnawing in the gut.

Without needing anything but Jasper's word to justify his actions, Phil said, "Tail him, Agent. We need to know what he's up to."

"Yes, sir."

"Sitwell, this could be nothing, just that one in a million possibility."

"Yes, sir," Jasper agreed, then added, "but it doesn't feel like it, sir."

"Agreed."

The line clicked off and Phil sagged. Whatever was going on, he couldn't let Clint find out until they had a handle on it. "Jarvis?"

"Yes, Agent Coulson?"

"Can you gain access to the security cameras from the Burj Khalifa in Dubai?" He might as well get started getting to the bottom of this.

"It will take some time, sir."

"Get on it," Phil ordered.

"Yes, sir."

Taking a deep breath, Phil dialed Nick's personal line.

~~*~~

_"Just get to the bottom of it, whatever it is, but keep it quiet and small. I don't need the whole agency on a wild goose chase," Nick said, obviously distracted. "And under no circumstances are you to pick this double up. Only on my order. Keep me in the loop, Coulson. Fury out."_

Phil gritted his teeth and very purposefully did not frown at his phone. Nick was a busy man and it was not unheard of for someone to have a look-a-like. This could be completely innocent. But Phil didn't believe that. So maybe he was a little too close to this, but even Sitwell thought something was up.

By the time Phil left the office, he knew little more than the man Sitwell had seen looked remarkably identical to Clint. His hair was darker and he seemed comfortable in a suit, but the footage didn't reveal much more than that. He debated telling Clint, but something held him back, doubts, distrust, he couldn't name the twist in his gut.

Once home and settled onto the sofa next to Clint, Phil thought again about bringing it up, but instead he steered their casual conversation toward family and siblings. He knew Clint's file backwards and forwards (had, even before Clint agreed to work for S.H.I.E.L.D.) so he knew there were holes in the file, gaps that Clint was gradually filling in for him as things came up. There wasn't mention of a twin, nothing except a soft wistfulness for a sibling besides Barney, one that could be trusted, like Phil's sister. The quiet longing in Clint's voice made Phil drop the topic in favor of spending an evening alone in their private quarters. How could he do anything else when Clint was snuggled up next to him, tousled blond head resting on Phil's right shoulder? Everything was right in Phil's world: cheesy reality show on the television and Clint's breath huffing against Phil's neck. Investigating Clint's twin could wait until tomorrow.

"This show is shit, Phil," Clint complained, but he was no less invested in the petty bickering and duplicity than Phil. "Can't we at least watch something that doesn't sap the testosterone from my blood?"

Phil chuckled. "We can switch to _The Voice_ when this episode is over."

Clint pretended to pout, but snuggled closer. "I was talking about _Bering Sea Gold_ or _Yukon Men_ ," he replied.

"pfffft. You think I don't know you have a crush on Adam Levine?"

Clint hummed, his voice a quiet purr. "He does have those fabulous sleeves and talent to spare."

Phil elbowed Clint in the ribs and was rewarded with a soft, warm rasp tickling his ear. "But no one does it for me like you, babe."

If the amateur talent and heartfelt stories ended up as background to Clint showing Phil just how much he does it for Clint, no one but JARVIS was any the wiser.

~~*~~

The phone rang and Phil looked up from the computer screen, eyes taking a moment to adjust as he rolled his neck and shoulders, the resounding crack loosening the ever present tension. "Coulson," he answered into the headset.

"Sir?"

"Sitwell?" Phil had to take a quick breath, holding it before blowing it out softly. "You're overdue. Report," he commanded.

"I lost him."

"What?" Phil bit back the anger and profanity that bubbled up. He took one, long, slow breath in and released it, calming himself and easing the stricture in his throat. "How could you lose him?"

"I'm in Mumbai. They move fast--"

"They?" Phil interrupted. 

"Yes, sir. Barton's doppelganger has three associates. Two men and a woman. I have photos. Shall I send them?"

"Yes," Phil replied, voice still holding a hard edge. Phil had failed to protect his asset -- _Clint_ \-- once. He wasn't going to repeat that mistake.

His e-mail pinged for the incoming message almost immediately.

"Orders, sir?"

"Stay on them. If they are working together, it's likely they'll meet up with Barton's clone."

"If the opportunity presents itself, should I grab one of them?" 

Jasper was a good agent. Solid. Not particularly intuitive, but he had good initiative and enough smarts to keep things from going pear-shaped. If he'd lost Clint's body double then these people were _good_ , and likely dangerous. As much as Phil wanted the imposter in a cell, he wasn't about to risk another agent to have it.

"Not at this time. Keep up the surveillance. You are _not_ authorized to snatch Barton's twin, but do not lose them again."

"Yes, sir."

Phil disconnected the call and opened the files. He didn't recognize the woman or the mousy-haired man, but Phil was sure he'd seen the dark-haired man before. After trying to recall where, and failing, he gave up and sent the photos to the labs. If these people were in any database on the planet, S.H.I.E.L.D. would find them.

~~*~~

Nearly a week later, Phil cursed as the findings from research came through: Clint's twin and his team didn't exist. He frowned at the report, shaking his head. There were whispers and rumors, grainy photographs, and bits of surveillance footage, but little more. And what there was made his stomach churn; whoever these shadowy figures were they were usually associated with petty dictators, terrorists, gun runners, or assassins. Before Phil could sort through the entire report, see if there was anything that might have been overlooked, all hell broke loose.

In hindsight, the incident known as '2013 Stroke 2 Alpha Five Gamma Nine' was probably related in some way to Clint's doppelganger, but Phil and the rest of research missed the connection in the chaos. With all of the California S.H.I.E.L.D. divisions too caught up investigating what appeared to be a deactivated Russian nuke dropping into the sea off the coast of San Francisco, the oversight could be forgiven.

Phil knew the Avengers had become too high profile, that both Clint and Natasha were vulnerable because of their visibility, but he couldn't figure out the angle, what this secret, nameless team intended. His hand hesitated over the phone before he picked it up and dialed Jasper's number.

"Sir?" Jasper answered.

"Status report, Agent," Phil said.

Jasper began reciting the past few weeks' activities. "After the shit that went down in Mumbai -- and thank god for Widow's contacts in Russia -- the team split up. I had each of them followed."

"Where are you now?"

"Seattle. The team is converging here. I think something else is about to go down, sir."

 _Well shit._ That was too close to home for Phil's comfort. To hell with keeping his distance. "Bring them in, Sitwell." He nearly chuckled at just how much Clint had rubbed off on him. It was easier to ask forgiveness than permission.

"Sir?" Jasper hesitated. "What about the director's orders?"

"You've seen the reports. I don't know who those people are or what they're up to, but every damn time they pinged the radar, something's gone down. Hell, from what Agent Romanoff has learned, they bombed the Kremlin. That takes balls and some major technology. And I have a feeling their next target is very close to home." Phil swallowed. _Too close to home._

"I'll deal with the director. Bring them in as soon as possible."

~~*~~

"What the ever lovin' fuck is going on here?" Nick demanded as he stormed into the observation room. Phil was expecting him so long experience kept him from flinching, but the anger pulsating off Nick made it a close thing.

Before Phil could answer, Nick growled, "I told you to leave it, Agent."

"Yes, sir."

"And?" Phil straightened under Nick's glare.

"We apprehended a team of highly skilled and dangerous terrorists, sir. I believe that the man sitting in that chair is part of a plot to take down the Avengers from the inside, sir. As their handler and liaison, I could not allow that."

" _You_ could not allow that?" Nick seethed. 

"Sir, with all due respect, Clint Barton does not have a twin. Yet that man, known as William Brandt, shares 100% of the same DNA with Barton. If that's not a red flag, then nothing is." Phil stared Nick down. "They claim to be working for a highly secretive government agency, the Impossible Missions Force." Phil glanced at the open file on the table to his left. "We checked out their story. It doesn't hold water, sir."

"Not only did you violate direct orders you have now compromised another agency's team." Nick threw a file down on the table. "Take a seat, Coulson. It's time you learned about the IMF."

Phil read through the file, lingering over every word about William Brandt, former field agent turned analyst. His entire history was in the file, from his adoption in Waverly, Iowa to a month ago, when he was presumed dead along with the Secretary.

"He's not dead, sir," Phil found himself saying like a wide-eyed probie.

"That's what you took away from that?" Nick was leaning against the two-way glass, arms crossed, back to Sitwell and Brandt. He shook his head. "Coulson, he was adopted in Waverly, Iowa. Born on September 10th. Ring any bells?"

"It's too pat, sir. A background like that can be easily manufactured." Phil refused to believe that Clint had kept a twin out of his file. Kept a twin from _Phil._

"You suspicious bastard." Nick's tone was surprisingly fond.

"It keeps me alive, sir."

"And in this circumstance, it's steered you wrong."

"If you know something, then let me in on the secret," Phil demanded. Adding, "sir," belatedly.

"William Brandt _is_ Barton's twin. Born two minutes later. His fuckwad father sold his own child to pay off a bookie and fund his drinking and gambling. Guess he figured he had an extra, could do with one less mouth to feed."

"But..." Phil was equal measures floored, flabbergasted, and furious. He wished that Clint's father was still alive so that he could take the bastard apart himself. Piece by tortuous piece. And then he wanted to punch Nick.

"You _knew?_ " he fumed. "How long? And why the fuck was I not informed?"

"On an op a couple of years ago, we got crossways with the IMF. Stumbled into Brandt, so I did some digging. The Secretary and I reached an accord since our goals usually align."

Phil gritted his jaw and breathed in through his nose. "And you didn't think to tell me? Something like this--"

"Was need to know," Nick interrupted. "You did not need to know."

"Dammit, Nick!" Phil blurted out. "I'm Barton's handler!" Phil tapped his toes inside his shoe and clenched his muscles to keep from doing or saying anything that he'd regret. "What about Barton? Didn't _he_ need to know?"

And Nick, the callous bastard, just shook his head.

Phil deflated, thinking about Clint's childhood. He wondered if it would have been different with a brother at his side, one he could trust. "I don't get it. How could he do that? Sell off his own kid? Clint's _brother._ And what about Clint's mom? How could she do that?"

"I don't think she knew." Nick's voice gentled, his eyes conveying just how troubling this was, even after all they'd seen. "She didn't have pre-natal care." He frowned, brows drawing down. "But she might have suspected. And that was likely the genesis of her valium habit."

"And the beginning of hell on earth for those boys!" Phil spat.

"And just what do you plan to do about it?" Nick challenged Phil, pinning him with a dark glare. "You're too close to this. Created a shitstorm with the IMF that has yet to be resolved." Nick leaned closer.

Phil wouldn't apologize or back down, but he did understand the can of worms he'd just opened. "What about the rest of Brandt's team?"

"Hunt's too cocky. Cooling his heels in a cell." Nick was almost smiling. "Bastard's a lot like Stark. It'll be good for him."

"And the others?" Phil asked. He had to. He'd been the one to screw up and he needed to be the one to fix it.

"Maria's on it," Nick dismissed the question.

"Maria?" Phil asked, hands clenching at his sides.

"Those two are good. We could use them both."

"You sent Maria to try to recruit them?"

"Christ, Coulson! What the fuck do you want from me? This ain't no reality television show." Nick's eye narrowed. "There will be hell to pay once you finish your little drama. I might as well get something up front."

Phil's fingers tapped out a rhythm on his thigh to keep him focused. He was going to be stuck cleaning up crap for _years._ "I'll handle Brandt's team, sir. It was--"

"Fuck that shit, Agent. You are so far past compromised on this one, I'm not sure letting you talk to Brandt's a good idea." Nick was still pissed, mostly because he'd be stuck playing nice with some bureaucrat over at the IMF and Nick hated politics. But there was a hint of concern, for Phil or Clint, Phil couldn't tell. Didn't make the knowledge of who Brandt was rest any easier.

"I don't much care what's going on in that head of yours. Just get this shit straightened out, preferably _quietly._ "

"Sir?"

"You planning on hosting a family reunion, Coulson? Or are you going to end this here and now?"

Phil's jaw clenched and he had to take a couple of slow breaths to keep from shouting. "That man is Clint's brother, sir. His file indicates that he's a good man. A man with a conscience." Phil stood and gestured toward the window. "Don't you think they deserve to know each other? Don't you think _Clint_ deserves _one_ decent family member?"

"I don't know, Agent. You tell me."

Nick continued before Phil could reply. "On second thought, you think about Clint and just what he's accomplished and then you think about this: he has a family. Banner, Rogers, Romanoff. _You._ Even Tony fucking Stark. Who says that blood is all that matters?" He paced toward the door, stopping with his palm on the handle. "Think hard, Coulson. The IMF may not be the only one wanting a piece of you if you choose wrong."

Phil collapsed back into his chair as his legs gave way.

_Shit!_

He honestly had no plan at the moment. This revelation would change _everything_ for Clint. His dad would be transformed. He'd no longer be just a small man, a generic loser who wailed on his kids when he was drunk. No, he'd become someone so singularly loathsome and repugnant that even the most hardened of criminals would despise him.

Resting his head on his hands, he sat there breathing, trying to regain his composure, to find that place where he could separate his feelings for Clint from the cold, hard facts.

It took longer than he would have liked to center himself. When he did, he could focus with utter clarity and a serene calm. He was compromised, hopelessly in love with his archer. If this thing went wrong and came between them it'd shatter him. But he couldn't leave it. Not now that he knew. His conscience, and his heart, wouldn't allow him to.

Sighing he turned to the window. The first moment Jasper spotted Brandt had sealed Phil's fate. He'd suspected this was going to be a clusterfuck. He just had no idea how much.

~~*~~

Phil stood, palm on the cool glass, assessing Brandt -- Clint's _brother_ \-- for long moments. The man was coldly furious, but surprisingly calm as he paced. Phil has been in his position a time or two and was subtly impressed at the other man's restraint; it seemed that Brandt was calculating his chances, determining his odds of escape, but was carefully cautious about not giving himself away. You could see it in his eyes, the way he'd glance at the two-way mirror and then the door. He'd flick his eyes to the security cameras for an instant before they darted away. This was a man that could be dangerous if provoked. And Phil was about to step into the tiger's cage and pull the rug out from under him. Great.

With only a short jerk of Phil's head, Sitwell left them, the near silent click of the lock behind him Phil's confirmation that he was doing this. William Brandt gazed at him with unveiled hostility. It was unnerving to see that expression directed at him from Clint's face.

"Have a seat, Mister Brandt," Phil began, gesturing to the chair facing the mirror. Phil took the other chair, keeping his tone and face placid even as his belly churned. He placed the innocuous looking manila folder precisely in the center of the table. It set there, testament to the two lives he was about to up-end.

"I'll stand," Brandt replied. He then crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, eyes challenging Phil.

"This could take awhile. You'll be more comfortable--"

Brandt snorted, interrupting Phil. "Comfortable?" He glared at Phil. "You've kidnapped me. Poked and prodded me. Bled me like vampires. You're holding me here without explanation. I'm pretty sure the last thing you want is for me to be _comfortable,_ Agent..." His voice trailed away as he reached for Phil's name.

Phil cursed his nerves, but kept his tone bland as he answered. "I am Agent Coulson of S.H.I.E.L.D. I'm sure you were informed of why you're being detained, Mister Brandt."

Brandt leaned forward, slamming his palms on the table, but Phil didn't flinch or turn away from his hot gaze. "Bullshit! You expect me to believe that you're the 'good guys' when you kidnap people and hold them indefinitely based on some fabricated nonsense? What the hell do you really want?"

"I can assure you that our reasons for holding you are not manufactured. Not only do you bear an uncanny resemblance to one of our assets, but, it turns out, you also share the same genetics with him. We had to be sure you were not a threat, Mister Brandt. Surely you understand the necessity of doing everything in your power to keep the assets in your charge safe from harm?"

Brandt sucked in a harsh breath, his face stony as he straightened. It'd been a low blow, but Phil needed him to listen. "I am not a threat, goddammit! I'm an IMF analyst. What more proof do you need?" His voice cracked slightly, but he still managed to keep his composure. Phil was subtly impressed with the man before him.

He wore Clint's face, but carried nothing of Clint's raw, coiled power. Brandt was more refined, had taken his share of shit, but nothing in his file approached Clint's fucked-up life. He was confident, sure of himself and his place in the world. But for all of that, all of his advantages, he wasn't _extraordinary._ William Brandt was a good agent, would be an asset to any agency, including S.H.I.E.L.D. But William Brandt wasn't Clint Barton, Avenger. Phil wondered how they'd have turned out if they'd been raised together, if Clint had had a normal childhood spent with loving parents.

"Take a seat, Mister Brandt," Phil urged once again as he reached for the folder in front of him. He didn't wait for Brandt's compliance, but began to sift through the documents, more for show than because he needed them for reference. Phil had a nearly eidetic memory and there was no way he'd forget a single detail so crucial to Clint's well-being.

Brandt sat, the chair pulled away from the table, arms crossed over his chest.

"Can you verify a few details for me? To confirm your identity," Phil opened. "It's merely a formality, you understand?"

Brandt looked skeptical.

"We need to corroborate that this is your actual history."

"You think I fabricated my childhood?" Brandt growled.

"No. But surely you understand my suspicion?" Phil kept his tone mild, almost placating. He watched Brandt glower from under too-familiar eyelashes. He let out a frustrated breath and forcibly settled, tension ebbing from him as he gave a curt nod.

Brandt was cautious and wily, answering only the question Phil asked, never volunteering anything. His hostility was understandable; Phil accepted that fact and kept his own temper well in check. Phil was conciliatory, engaging and clever. It was honestly exhausting, but Phil made inroads, got to the heart of each question, broke through Brandt's defenses until he'd established a rapport with the other agent. That budding connection aided Phil in learning everything he could about William Brandt, a necessity if he was going to meet Clint.

Hours later, after too much coffee and too many stale sandwiches, Phil had gained a grudging respect for Brandt. And he was ready to introduce him to Clint. But it was too late, the wrong side of midnight, and neither he nor Brandt were in any state for such a meeting.

Phil set his pen down, startling Brandt. "I'm convinced," he said.

Brandt blinked at him, weary and apprehensive. "What?"

"I have no doubt that you are the biological twin of one of our senior operatives. I believe that you had no prior knowledge of this and am reasonably certain that you have no nefarious intentions now that you do know."

Brandt gazed at Phil, mouth hanging slightly open. He blinked a couple of times, then shook his head. "What the fuck? That's it? You interrogate me for _hours_ and then just what? Dump me outside, god knows where with nothing but your assurance?"

He stood, fury radiating off him. "I don't think so, goddammit!" He slammed his palm down on the table by Phil's coffee, sloshing it over the side of the cup. "You owe me, Coulson."

Phil looked up at Brandt, his expression carefully neutral. "S.H.I.E.L.D. owes you nothing, Mister Brandt," he began, holding up his hand to forestall Brandt's protest. "S.H.I.E.L.D. may owe you nothing, but I am more than willing to answer any questions you have. In fact I have secured quarters for you for tonight so that we can continue this tomorrow, if you so desire."

"If I demand to meet my twin?"

Phil gave Brandt a thin smile. "If he is amenable, then I can make it happen."

"And if I decide I just want the fuck out of here?"

"The offer still stands." Phil was pretty certain he understood Brandt after twelve hours of questioning, but he was feeling off-kilter, a bit uncertain, which he hid behind a bland mask.

"Brandt snorted, then rubbed his hand over his face. "Well, fuck you very much, Coulson. Can't walk away, not now. And you damn well know that."

He straightened, stretching, the thin dress shirt and slacks doing nothing to conceal his lean, yet strong, body. Phil fought against his instinct to stare by ducking his head and gathering the papers.

"It's not everyday one learns they have a twin," Phil agreed.

"It's not everyday you learn your biological father was a fuckwad."

The door opened before Phil could reply and Agent Woo stepped into the room. "If you will follow me, Mister Brandt," he said after briefly nodding to Phil.

Brandt glanced back at Phil. "What kind of 'room', Coulson?" he asked.

Phil looked up from the papers. "Guest quarters, of course, with everything you need for a reasonably comfortable stay," he replied, offering a thin smile. "But the door locks from the _outside._ "

" _Reasonably_ comfortable?" Brandt snorted. "Stellar hospitality, Coulson," he continued, shaking his head as he turned to follow Woo. "Lead on."

"I'll retrieve you in the morning," Phil called after them, slumping only when they disappeared from view.

~~*~~

It was far too late, or actually early by now, as Phil shuffled into their apartment. He was quiet, allowing himself a few moments to sag against the door before looking up and smiling despite himself. There was a sliver of light coming from under the bedroom door, so either Clint had fallen asleep waiting for him (always a possibility, especially when his lover had just returned from an op) or was still awake, in their bed, waiting for _Phil._ That development was still recent enough that the mere thought never failed to make Phil's heart give a little lurch in surprise.

Shrugging out of his coat, he hung it on the peg by the door and moved on, shedding the trappings of his office as he walked until he was standing in front of their bedroom door in nothing but his boxers, a trail of clothes littering his path. He felt gritty and grimy, skin clammy in places, sweat sticky in others. He should skip the bed, take a shower, probably eat something or he was likely going to regret it in the morning. But the mere idea that Clint was home, had made it back in one piece, overrode the thought of food and a warm shower. Cleanliness was overrated. Besides he needed to see Clint for himself, to touch and hold his lover. He hoped he never grew complacent enough to no longer need that reassurance.

Phil slid the door open and leaned on the frame, throat closing at the picture before him. Clint was sitting up in bed reading, a Stark pad balanced on his bent knees. He was wearing one of Phil's old black Rangers' tees stretched tight across his chest, the sleeves cuffed high to keep them from cutting into his biceps. There was no doubt that Phil never filled out that shirt quite like Clint did.

He swallowed, unable to keep silent, and Clint looked up at him, a small, genuine smile on his face, his eyes lighting up. And Phil was, once again, hopelessly gone, utterly smitten. There was no way he could hide it. He hadn't even known Clint wore reading glasses until he'd come to with blinding pain in his chest, his limbs dull and disconnected, the world fuzzy except for Clint's multi-chrome eyes blinking blearily down at him from his bedside. The catch in his throat had been from so much more than the breathing tube. Phil's surprise only multiplied when Clint pressed a soft kiss to his forehead murmuring, "Good to see you, too, sir."

And now Clint, _Hawkeye._ was looking at _him,_ his fabulous eyes crinkling from behind hipster glasses. Phil never could have imagined such a thing, but Clint truly did see better from a distance. He was also dyslexic, making reading even more tedious and slow. Or it had been until Phil had realized and began tutoring Clint. Phil wished his mom, a teacher, had lived to see this day, with Clint comfortably ensconced in their bed, reading. 

He shook himself from his reverie, his mind already sluggish with fatigue, when he met Clint's gaze. It was a long, slow drag of his eyes, darkening as they lingered on Phil's bare chest, then flitting lower. Clint licked his lips before his eyes blinked once, then twice and he met Phil's now hungry gaze, a self-satisfied smirk on his lips. He knew exactly what he did to Phil, fucking gorgeous asshole.

Phil inhaled carefully, held the breath for a five count before stalking to the bed. There were things he should say, words, a whole conversation they needed to have before the morning, but Phil couldn't bring himself to think of Brandt, or twins, or bastard fathers. Tomorrow might bring his world crashing down around his ears, so for tonight, he put that all aside. He clambered onto Clint, their lips meeting as they both scrabbled for each other, the Stark pad shoved aside when Phil gripped Clint's arms. He dove into the kiss, held tighter as Clint surged up into it. There was no duel, no tangle for primacy or control. There never had been. From their first real kiss, and Phil did not count the gentle pecks in the hospital, it had been _right._ Perfect. Clint filled Phil's hollow spaces, his unquenchable exuberance smoothed Phil's jagged edges, and his intimidating mind challenged Phil to be faster, smarter, better. And Phil loved him, with an intensity that was almost overwhelming.

Some of that, or all of it, hard to tell when Phil was utterly wrung out, must have slipped out because Clint pulled back, just a bit, and met Phil's wide gaze. "I love you, too, sir," Clint breathed, and Phil settled, his thoughts easing, his body sagging as the tension let go. His plan was laid, course set. If he ran aground and his world crumbled, he'd deal with that later.

Clint chuckled, a warm rumbling against Phil's chest and Phil found himself on his back, blinking up into Clint's amused face.

"Get some sleep, babe. You can tell me all about it in the morning."

Phil wanted to argue. It'd been days since he'd had Clint in his arms, in his _bed._ But he was no longer fully functioning, his limbs unprotesting as Clint shifted them, tucking them in, and pressing himself along Phil's back, the warmth of his arms wrapping Phil up, their weight welcome and comforting as Phil dozed off, losing awareness between two beats of Clint's heart.

~~*~~

Phil woke slowly. He'd never been a morning person, was always a night owl, and working for S.H.I.E.L.D. had only compounded that tendency. Now he was warm and safe, Clint wrapped around him. The world could fuck off for all he cared.

Then he shifted, pressed back against Clint, wringing a low moan from his lover. "Seems like you missed me," he breathed, turning in Clint's arms until he could meet his eyes.

"Like air, babe," Clint replied, leaning close and kissing Phil soundly. He tasted of mint and smelled of shampoo. 

When Phil blinked his eyes open, he asked, voice thick and gravely. "Been awake awhile?"

Clint shrugged. "Better things to do with you in my arms than sleep."

Phil was suddenly very aware just how grubby he was. He made to get up, but Clint shook his head, kissing him again.

"No sense getting cleaned up. Just going to dirty you again."

Phil's breath stuttered in his chest. He'd never stop marveling at Clint's ability to render him speechless with a few words. He doubted he'd ever stop being quietly in awe that Clint was in his bed, trusted Phil with his heart. Despite everything he'd been through, all the ways his heart had been broken, Clint was still open, generous, and affectionate, not to mention scarily good at turning Phil's brain to mush and his spine liquid. 

Clint's grin was wicked before he leaned down and nipped at Phil's ear, whispering, "Gonna make you beg, sir, then I'm going to fill you up, just the way you like, hard and deep. Then I'm going to stop. Just wait. Watch your eyes. Love the way they go dark, gorgeous blue all swallowed up by black, then you flush and start turning pink, your hands grabbing me, trying to make me move, rushin' me."

Clint's breath was hot and Phil was too lost in the moment, caught in a daze created by Clint's words. He didn't even notice Clint had shifted him, spreading his legs until a slick finger prodded at his entrance. Phil gasped, hungry for it, tried to push closer, but Clint had him pinned, held him still, called all the shots, multi-tasking like a ruthless bastard when his words began again, timed to the moment he slipped a slick finger inside Phil.

"But the best part, babe? That's when you bite your lip, try to hold it in, refuse to give up, to ask for it. To beg me for what we both want. But you know you will," he murmured, another finger sliding in and Phil was too far gone to do much more than groan, body clenching, tightening reflexively, then opening, unfurling, his heart following. 

"Of course you're a stubborn badass and refuse to ask, but you're impaled on my dick and then you start wiggling." Clint chuckled. Evil fucking bastard. Because Phil had to force his hips to be still, stop them from doing that little shimmy as Clint stroked his sweet spot too lightly, just barely there. Maddening.

"That's when I know you'll break soon enough. And that's when I wait..."

Clint stopped speaking, lifted his head and gave Phil another goddamned smirk. Phil would punch him, wipe that smirk right off his face, if he wasn't too busy trying to catch his breath or if his hips would stop moving, little thrusts meeting Clint's fingers, all three of them. Instead of attempting words or arguing, Phil arched up and pulled Clint down, biting his lips and getting some glorious friction on his cock.

Clint moaned into the kiss but didn't stop teasing Phil's hole, didn't stop making Phil crazy.

Wrenching his mouth away, Phil gasped, "Goddammit, Barton! Get on with it!"

Clint's eyes softened, his lips quirking up in a self-satisfied grin. "Sir. Yes, sir!" he replied. Cheeky, sexy bastard.

And those were the last words spoken, the last words that Phil had breath for. It was impossible to form words as Clint slid home in one smooth thrust, driving all the air from Phil's lungs. In that moment of stillness when they were joined, bodies wrapped together, Phil clung just a little harder when he considered how close he'd come to never having this, to being just another in the long parade that had abandoned Clint.

But Clint didn't give him time to get maudlin. He kept his promise, soon had Phil begging, curses and threats interspersed with stifled moans until Clint shifted. He hitched Phil up on his thighs, rested his weight on his elbows and huffed against Phil's sweat-slick neck, "Touch yourself, babe. Please, dammit!"

Phil complied, his weak arm slipping between them while he clung tight with the other. Clint was driving into him, aim perfect, and Phil's fist sped up, he was close, so very close, just needed that little bit more and Clint was a mind reader in bed because at the apex of a thrust, he bit down at the juncture of Phil's neck and shoulder setting off a chain reaction: a flash of pain, a tightening of Phil's muscles, then Clint groaned, his hips stuttering a staccato beat as he filled Phil and, for Phil, the tension burst, light flaring behind his eyelids. He stilled before every nerve sparked and he twitched, instantly over sensitive.

If Phil clung a little tighter than usual through the aftershocks, Clint didn't comment. He just kissed Phil more thoroughly, rendering him a happy puddle, leaving him sated and sleepy. And Phil wasn't going to argue when Clint got out of the bed because he returned with a warm wash cloth followed by blessed coffee and breakfast, further delaying their 'talk'.

Shifting up in bed, Phil took the tray and marveled at his lover. "Gorgeous _and_ he cooks." After sipping his coffee and taking a few bites of omelette he asked. "How did I get so lucky?"

Clint grinned, a slight flush staining his cheeks. "Eat. So you can tell me who you were interrogating yesterday."

"I never said I was--"

"You wore the black Armani, babe. You only wear it when you're going after some poor slob." Clint gave him a fake leer. "Scary as fuck in that suit. You wore it to my interrogation."

"No, you bled all over that one."

"Not the _same_ one, but it's the same cut. Something about it makes you fucking terrifying. People spill their guts just to keep you from dismembering them."

Phil chuckled and rolled his eyes.

"It's true! Scared me shitless. I would have agreed to anything!"

Phil leaned over and kissed Clint. "As I recall you did agree to anything. Everything I said."

"Hell yes! I wanted to keep my skin where it belonged."

A comfortable silence lapsed as Phil finished his omelette and Clint sipped at his protein smoothie.

"So who was it?" Clint asked. He held out as long as his limited patience allowed.

"Over your clearance level," Phil replied just to see Clint's reaction.

"Bullshit!" Clint stood and began pacing. "Goddammit, Phil! I'm an Avenger! When the hell is Fury going to trust me again?"

Phil set the tray aside and stood to meet Clint halfway. "Shhhh. I was just yanking your chain. Fury had nothing to do with this. It was all me. In fact, I'm on his shit list for it."

That stopped Clint mid-step. He looked at Phil. "Impossible. You're Fury's 'one good eye'. You know the rules backwards and forwards. Hell you _made_ the rules!" He crossed his arms over his chest, brow furrowed. "What the fuck aren't you telling me?"

"Clint," Phil said, his voice soft, but firm. "I need you to sit down with me. I did an end-run around Fury on this. Pulled the guy in because he has a link to you." 

Clint's face went white.

He ushered Clint back into bed, moving the tray to the floor before settling in at Clint's side. At least this way he could be touching Clint but didn't have to meet his eyes for the revelation. "It's nothing bad. Or not as bad as whatever you've just dreamed up."

"Wha'?" Clint was tense beside him, every muscle poised for fight or flight. Phil just had to get through this without setting off Clint's worst instincts.

"He's not an old enemy. He's not an enemy at all."

Clint frowned, but looked at Phil, waiting, eyes intense and body coiled, expectant. He was a primed explosion, just waiting for the spark.

Phil scrubbed his hand over his face, stubble catching rough calluses. He licked his lips, took a deep breath, and blurted out, "Sitwell came across a lookalike for you. I brought him in."

Clint's shoulders relaxed and he looked at Phil with a puzzled frown. "Everyone has a lookalike, Phil."

"I know that. Mine's living some bizarre suburban life in California."

"What's the big deal then? Why drag some innocent--"

"Clint," Phil interrupted. "I was interviewing your brother. William Brandt is your twin brother."

Clint stilled, eyes going cold, lips drawn tight, a crystalline mask forming to hide his emotions. "I don't have a twin," he said, words clipped. "This isn't funny, Phil. You _know_ \--"

"Clint," Phil said, reaching for his lover. But Clint jerked back at his touch, making Phil's breath hitch. That hurt. But he was already committed to this course and he was seeing it through. "Clint, please. I'm not joking. This is no laughing matter. It's why I-I went a little off the rails. Had Sitwell pick Brandt and his team up. The genetics testing came back positive. You have a twin brother and he's currently in custody at HQ waiting to meet you."

Clint sagged, as though his strings had been cut. Phil itched to touch, to pull him into an embrace, to console, soothe, whatever Clint would allow. But Phil was caught, frozen, waiting for Clint to look at him, to say anything.

An eternity passed, or maybe it was only a few seconds, ones that merely seemed like aeons, before Clint opened his eyes and met Phil's. There was hurt there, old pains brought to light, but there was also a fire, white-hot anger. And then Clint was up off the bed like a shot, pacing. "Explain, dammit. How long have you known?"

"I didn't know. I just found out. Something felt 'off'. That's why I went against orders." Phil didn't move, just pressed his palms against his thighs and watched Clint's turmoil.

"What the hell happened? How?"

He'd faced down a god, but this was worse. "On the day you were born, your dad sold your brother to pay off his gambling debts." And whoever said getting it over with fast was better than slow was an idiot.

Clint froze, Phil watching as his lover processed those terrible words. Then, anger consumed Clint's face and, giving a wild howl, he punched the wall. The sound echoed in Phil's ears and he leapt up, intercepting Clint's fist before he could strike again.

He tugged Clint to him, whispering, "Clint."

Clint went rigid. Phil tugged again, murmuring, "Clint, c'mere."

After two jerky stiff-legged steps, Phil's arms were suddenly filled with Clint. He held on tight as Clint ducked his head, unwilling to meet his eyes.

"This could be a good thing," Phil offered.

"Fuck that shit. My dad... goddammit," he hissed. "How _could_ he?"

"People make mistakes--"

"Mistakes?" Clint jerked back and fixed a fiery glare on Phil. "He _sold_ his own flesh and blood! That's not a mistake! Jesus fucking Christ!"

"Clint!" Phil reached out. "I don't condone it, won't excuse it. But it was a long time ago," he soothed. "There's nothing we can do about it now. And, as much as I'd like to deal with your dad, he's dead. Don't let him win on this one. Have the last laugh. Meet William." He offered a small smile. "He's pretty cool. He'd make a damned good S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. He's not _you,_ but then, no one is."

Clint cocked his head and looked at Phil, his eyes burning with a bright intensity. "Were you checking out my brother?"

Phil gave a sharp laugh. He was so relieved he thought his legs would give way from the missing weight. "That's what you got from my big speech?"

"Well, sir, he's my identical twin."

Phil pulled Clint into his arms and kissed him, heart stuttering with relief.

Clint responded, a smile on his lips as they kissed.

"Asshole," Phil breathed against the corner of Clint's mouth.

"Guilty as charged," Clint said as he tilted his head back and gave Phil a lopsided grin. "Well, hell, sir. What the fuck are we waiting for?"

If Phil's knees shook, well, he was still Agent Coulson and damned good at faking composure he didn't feel. Thankfully, Clint pretended not to notice. He just helped Phil into the shower and held on tight.

~~*~~

The rest of the morning proceeded fairly normally, Phil in a hurry and Clint not. The difference from their usual routine was obvious with Phil too agitated to sit quietly at the kitchen table reading emails on his Starkpad while he waited out Clint who was proceeding at an even slower pace than was normal. It was almost as though he was dragging his feet on purpose.

Phil was almost certain that was the case when Clint snagged the keys and refused to let Phil drive. 

"The traffic will just annoy you, babe," he said, dropping a quick kiss on Phil's nose as he moved away. He looked back over his shoulder, asking, "You coming?"

Phil growled under his breath, but decided two could play that game. "Sure. Stop by Blue Moon. I'm in the mood for a lemon head."

Clint glared at Phil over the roof of the S.H.I.E.L.D. sedan, then he shrugged and rolled his eyes. "Whatever you want. Hopefully, they won't be out of those pecan sticky buns," he said as he began backing the car out.

The bakery stop didn't actually take that long and Phil was grateful for the perfect cappuccino to go with the delicious, tart - oh-so tart - lemony goodness he was savoring with delicate nibbles. He took his time but still finished long before S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ came into view.

"You taking the scenic route?" he asked when there was no more muffin or caffeine to distract him from the way his pulse was slowly ramping up. He had no idea what to expect from the coming meeting and he was conflicted on whether he wanted it over and done with or whether he wanted to delay as long as possible.

"Hush, you. We'll be there in ten minutes. And this way you're properly caffeinated." Clint didn't have to remind Phil that he was a cranky bastard when he didn't get his morning coffee. Phil was also grumpy when he was forced to sit idle and contemplate something completely out of his control.

He reached for the radio, tired of the talking heads that were ceaselessly gossiping about Stark's latest stunt. Clint slapped his hand away without taking his eyes off the road. "Driver controls the radio."

"Clint," Phil protested and, crap, that sounded almost whiny.

They stopped at a light and Clint finally turned to look at Phil. He was grinning and his eyes were doing that thing where they were nearly kaleidoscopic from all the shards of color and light in them. "Nervous, babe?"

"What do I have to be nervous about?"

"I have no idea. You tell me," Clint urged. The light changed and he turned his attention back to the road, freeing Phil from his too knowing gaze.

When the silence stretched a little too long, Clint glanced over at Phil and insisted, "Go on. Spill. You have two blocks."

"Or what?" Phil knew better than to dare Clint like that, but adrenaline and raw nerves had made him punchy.

Clint snorted. "We sit in the goddamned parking garage until you talk."

"Barton," Phil cautioned in his best "take no prisoners" monotone.

Sadly, it no longer worked on Clint. He whipped the car into the first open space and killed the engine, quickly turning and giving Phil a feral smile. "Talk to me, sir."

"Sonuvabitch!" he hissed under his breath, then sagged back against the car seat. "There's a lot riding on this." Phil turned, his blood thrumming in his ears as he met Clint's gaze. His lover crooked an eyebrow, waiting him out.

Phil looked away, eyes staring at the gray concrete walls as he debated. But delaying wasn't going to make anything better. "Fury knew. I wasn't sure that you didn't. And I kept questioning my motives for _not_ telling you."

"That bastard!" Clint growled, hands wrapped white-knuckled around the steering wheel. "And you, what? Thought I was lying to you? That I had a brother in my back pocket?"

"No!" Phil reached for Clint, rested his palm lightly on Clint's forearm, thankful that Clint didn't brush him off. "I don't know. I can't explain. Not when I look at my actions objectively. I--I wanted to protect you." Phil sighed, spine straightening. "That's all. It's my job to keep you safe," he finished, voice scratchy with the weight of his failure in doing just that.

Clint's jaw clenched and he wouldn't meet Phil's gaze, but he hadn't pulled away. He was tense, but it looked like he was struggling for words rather than planning to run. "This is so fucked up. You basically kidnapped my brother to keep me… huh," he paused, mid-sentence, eyes unfocused as he puzzled over something. Then he turned to Phil. "That's the first time I've said those words and not felt like I was going to throw up."

Phil blinked. "You mean 'my brother'?" he asked to clarify.

"Yeah. It's… I don't know, babe. Weird isn't the right word. And, yes, I'm pissed at you for keeping this from me. I'm not some fragile damned flower. We agreed a long time ago not to keep shit from each other. And, yeah, this relationship stuff is new enough that neither of us are good at it, but I know we talked about keeping secrets and about how the job can't come between us. Fury I get. He's a lying asshole at the best of times. But I can't believe that you pulled all this shit and never once considered that you might ought to tell _me._ "

Clint was on a tear and Phil had to force his breaths to stay even, had to sit there and take it because Clint was right. He had fucked up, hadn't thought any of it through.

When Clint took a breath, Phil jumped in. "You're right."

Clint cocked his head and gazed at Phil, the tirade that he was winding up for stopped. "I am?"

Phil took one fortifying breath, then leaned toward Clint. "Yes. I'm sorry. I spent all this effort at keeping this from you, when I should have brought you in immediately." He smiled softly, Clint's wide eyes and slack mouth all too tempting. Phil brushed his lips against Clint's, then said, "In my defense, I love you and can't bear the idea of you hurt."

Clint smiled against Phil's lips before pulling back just enough to meet Phil's eyes. "You're an idiot. I can take care of myself, you know."

"I know. But allow me to look after you, when I can."

"You sap," Clint muttered, but he was moving forward and kissing Phil. This kiss held a promise from Clint, was warm and tender, lingering and a bit dirty. And Phil moaned his apology knowing he was forgiven and it would all work out. Well, at least with Clint. Fury was another matter altogether.

~~*~~

After clearing security, Phil led Clint toward Brandt's room. Before he could enter the elevator to the detention levels, Clint stopped him with a gentle tug on his sleeve.

"Clint?" he questioned.

"I don't want to do this in an interrogation room. Hell, I'd rather not do it on premises at all, but I know that won't fly," Clint started.

Puzzled, Phil asked, "What do you want?"

"My old bunk's still available?" Clint answered with a question of his own.

At Phil's confused nod, he continued, "Then I'll meet him there. Have the goon squad bring him up."

"But--" Phil tried to argue.

Clint cut him off. "And I want all recording devices turned off and shutdown."

Phil frowned, but agreed. "That can be arranged."

"And I go in alone."

Shaking his head, Phil spluttered for words.

Clint didn't wait for him to find his voice. "This isn't about you, or S.H.I.E.L.D., or our relationship. It's got nothing to do with anything except for me meeting a brother I didn't know I had."

"I'm not convinced that's wise," Phil finally said, throat tight.

"Since when have you known me to be wise?" Clint shrugged. "You vouched for him. Said William was one of the good guys. So what could go wrong?"

Phil groaned. "Budapest. Rio. Calgary. Bismarck."

"Okay! Okay! Got it. Sorry I said that!" Clint held up his hand to forestall any more examples of just what could go wrong. "But I'm not changing my mind," he said, voice firm. "This is personal, babe, and private. And I want it to stay that way."

Phil couldn't fault Clint for that even if his heart was sinking. He tried not to worry about what it meant that Clint didn't want Phil there. Maybe he'd misunderstood? "I'll get an extra chair--"

"Nope. Love you, babe, but I meant just me and William."

"I can't let you--"

"Sir," Clint said, voice and eyes begging for Phil to trust him, "I need this."

Phil swallowed, breath gone, but he nodded his agreement anyway.

~~*~~

Clint paced his room--left, turn, back, right, over and over--just like he'd done when he'd first joined S.H.I.E.L.D. He was climbing the walls but not because he itched to get away. No, this time was different because the stakes were higher. He had a life to lose now. He had no illusions that this meeting would go well or smoothly, but something in him compelled him to see it through. He had a _brother,_ a twin.

Dropping to the bed, Clint leaned back on his elbows and forced himself to breathe through the impending anxiety attack. He was safe, secure, and could do this, no matter the outcome. The bare walls mocked his turmoil, empty gray contrasted the riot of colors he felt. Once again, Phil Coulson had rocked Clint's world, changing his reality with a few simple words. How did that happen?

There was a soft rap on the door and Clint stood. "Come in," he said, swallowing.

The door opened to Phil's face, his smile tight and eyes frowning. Clint knew he was upset, worried _for_ Clint, so he gave his lover a casual smile and half-hearted salute.

Phil stepped aside and allowed the man into the room. Clint blinked. "Holy hell!" he gasped 

"Fuck, it's true!" the other man (William, he reminded himself) blurted out before stepping up and wrapping Clint in a hard hug.

Clint blinked, but reciprocated, if not with as much enthusiasm.

Phil cleared his throat and the twins separated, but did not extend the distance between them. "I'll leave you to it, then," he said, clearly uncomfortable with doing just that.

Sighing, Clint stepped forward and took Phil's hand before leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. "I'll be fine, babe. I promise," he murmured.

Phil was unconvinced, but gave them both a short nod as he backed out and closed the door behind him.

When Clint turned, he was greeted with his own face looking back at him, eyes widened in surprise.

"What?"

"Agent Stone Cold Badass didn't tell me you were lovers," William said. He pulled out the desk chair and sagged into it. "That explains a lot, actually."

Despite staring into his own face, Clint couldn't read the expression on William's face. A flash of heat began to boil in his gut. "Yeah, we are. You got a problem with that?" he growled.

William raised his hands and shook his head. "What? No, man. I don't care who you fuck. I just meant that your boyfriend there was pretty intense while he questioned me. It didn't make a lot of sense at the time. I mean, who cares if we look alike, or even if we are twins. How does that change anything, really?"

Clint cocked his head at William and blinked. "It changes _everything_ ," he said voice soft.

"No, don't get me wrong. I don't mean for you and me. I'm talking about Coulson. I didn't understand why he had taken such a personal interest in the whole thing. He seemed too highly placed to be as involved as he was. But he didn't tell me you were lovers. And that makes it all add up."

"Huh," Clint said, dropping to the bed. He sagged. "Guess he wanted to leave that reveal up to me."

"I'm not sure he wanted us to meet at all, but then I spent nearly twelve hours locked in a room with him and I could never get a clear read on him." William mused.

Clint chuckled.

"What?"

"That's Phil's super power."

"Huh? I thought he was human. He a mutant?"

"Nah, Phil's just damned good at only letting you see what he wants you to see. Best poker face in the world. I swear."

William barked out a laugh. "We should introduce him to Ethan. That'd be like oil and water, I bet."

"Ethan?" Clint asked, setting off a rapid fire barrage of conversation between the two brothers.

Somehow, impossibly, they were alike, not identical, but eerily similar in their likes and dislikes. They found themselves bonding over the most ridiculous things; a shared love of [Pinangat](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pinangat) and a hatred of tomatoes. With their snark and sly humor, it was almost surreal how well they 'fit', until something from their disparate raising reared its head and jarred them back to awareness.

They didn't really know each other, had no common reference point, not like brothers who'd grown up together. In the end, they had one thing: a determination to keep in touch and get to know each other better, to become a part of each other's life. Only time would tell if they managed to do so.

~~*~~

Phil roamed the halls of HQ after realizing that there was no way he could stay in his office. Most of the files he should be working on were at his office in the tower and his mind was too preoccupied to concentrate, even if he had what he needed.

Turning a corner, he was almost bowled over by Nick.

From the thunderous expression on Nick's face, Phil knew he was not going to like what was coming. "My office. Now," Nick barked, pushing past Phil.

Phil took a deep breath, straightened his spine and turned to follow. Whatever Nick was pissed about, Phil hoped it had nothing to do with Clint.

But that hope died the minute Phil stepped foot in Nick's office. "Shut the goddamn door and sit the fuck down, Coulson. Then I want you to tell me just what in the hell is going on in _my_ building?" Nick growled, his leather duster swirling around him as he paced.

That Nick was too agitated to sit was not a good sign. "Sir?" Phil asked, counting on Nick to run out of steam quickly.

Nick pivoted and pinned Phil to his chair with a fierce glare. "Don't play dumb with me. First you kidnap operatives from another agency, and _then_ you interrogate the guy for hours, and now you're letting him play footsie with Barton _with all surveillance disabled?_ " Nick slammed his palm on the desk. "Goddammit, Phil! Have you lost your fuckin' mind?"

"I--" Phil began, but Fury growled him into silence.

"I don't want to hear it. No excuses. I'm meeting with the Director of the IMF in four hours. That's all you get to fix this."

"But--"

Nick leaned closer to Phil. "No. I'm releasing his operatives to him at that time. Before then, you need to get them all on board."

"Recruit them? In four hours?"

"No. Maria tried that shit with Carter and Dunn and they practically laughed in her face."

"Huh. Who would have imagined that they'd be so loyal after being disavowed," Phil said.

"Not the point," Nick said.

"What is, sir?"

"Before we turn those four over to their director, we need them to be happy little campers. Not pissed and ready to raze S.H.I.E.L.D. to the ground. Got it?"

Phil swallowed. "How?"

"Not my problem, Coulson. You brought 'em. _You_ dance with 'em."

"Fuck!" Phil hissed under his breath.

~~*~~

Dunn and Carter turned out to be pretty easy to mollify. All it took was calling in a couple of favors and revealing the truth about why they'd been apprehended in the first place. After showing them the files on Clint Barton and William Brandt nee Barton, including the video of the two men staring at each other in Clint's room -- yes, Phil had left the surveillance cameras on for a bit longer than he'd promised to, so sue him -- both Benji and Jane were more amenable and willing to listen to Phil's explanation.

If Tony Stark happened to 'drop in' for an unannounced visit while Phil was separately debriefing Dunn, and if Dunn happened to have a fanboy attack and completely forget that he'd basically been held prisoner by S.H.I.E.L.D. for nearly two days, then that was just lucky coincidence. And who could fault S.H.I.E.L.D. if Stark lured the other man out of HQ with promises of all the glorious tech his little heart could handle?

Then the Black Widow herself came by to inform Phil of 'vital' news while he was meeting with Carter. That the two women left for the gym almost immediately was unsurprising and left Phil with a small, pleased smile on his face.

The smile fell almost instantly when he glanced at the feed from Ethan Hunt's cell. That problem would not be so easily rectified.

Figuring that there was little he could do but face the consequences for his choices, Phil headed to detention level C. Hunt could do a lot of damage quickly so Phil gathered two muscled agents for backup before turning the corridor to Hunt's cell. He blinked in disbelief as Maria Hill strode toward him, Hunt's arm around her waist and a wide smile on both their faces.

Phil's utter shock must have shown on his face -- there was no time to school it -- because Maria chuckled. "Fury just spouted nonsense about Dunn and Carter, didn't tell me who else you'd rounded up, Coulson."

Before Phil could splutter out an intelligible reply, Hunt gave Phil a huge smile and stuck out his hand. Phil, who was stunned from the ramifications of what he was seeing _and_ from the blinding smile, shook his hand without thinking. "Ethan Hunt. You should have just sent Scherbatsky here. The whole team would have shown up with bell's on."

"Scherbatsky? Who? What?" Phil was caught flat-footed again. Maybe he _wasn't_ field-ready if was having such a hard time following, or maybe it was more _believing,_ what he was seeing.

"Hunt and I go way back. We trained together at the CIA before we each got recruited… _elsewhere._ "

"Hill's good folks, Coulson. But not even for her would I have let you hurt Brandt."

"I--I wouldn't," Phil protested.

"Yeah, got the whole story," Hunt said, completely uninterested in further conversation as Maria tugged him past Phil. "Gotta run. We're going for drinks to catch up. Just tell Brandt we'll meet at the usual place tomorrow at the usual time."

Phil could only nod and blink as they walked away. Before they rounded the corner, Hunt glanced backed and glared at Phil while using two fingers to point at his eyes and then at Phil; his meaning clear.

Blowing out a stunned breath, Phil realized his guards were still standing there, waiting on orders. "You're dismissed, gentlemen."

"Yes, sir," they chorused, striding off while Phil sagged against the wall. It couldn't be that easy, could it? Nothing in Phil's life was that easy. Not after Loki.

~~*~~

_Six Months Later:_

Clint stuck his head in the bedroom, frowning at Phil. "You're not ready?" he asked.

Phil was between his second change of clothes. He was shucking the suit in favor of more casual attire, but Clint caught him with his button down on over jeans, the tail untucked and collar open. Phil didn't answer but instead began unbuttoning his sleeves.

Clint leered and stepped to Phil's side, wrapping him in a warm embrace. "That looks good on you. Why're you stripping? Not that I mind."

Phil grimaced then kissed Clint before pushing him away. "I am not about to wear a Hugo Boss over Levi's."

Undeterred, Clint moved back into to steal another kiss, lips quirking in a fond smile before he said, "Snob." His eyes were alight, the mutable colors shifting from blue to green, and his tone teasing.

"Damn right," Phil replied. He pulled off the shirt, laying it carefully on the bed before slipping on a soft crewneck sweater, its heather gray soft and warm.

Clint watched him during the entire exchange, his eyes intent as he leaned against the door frame. Clint's gaze was unwavering, ardent. A little shiver ran down Phil's spine from having all that focus directed at him.

"Don't you have guests arriving any minute?" Phil hinted.

Clint only grinned, eyes turning wicked. "We have time. Besides, Jarvis will keep an eye out. Won't you, J?"

 _I will indeed, Agent Barton,_ Jarvis replied. _But, you should know that Agent Hunt has arrived at the lobby._

"Shit!"

Phil grinned, his eyes saying 'I told you so' as he stepped into tan loafers.

"See? You're ready," Clint said, pointing out the obvious.

"This is your party, babe," Phil reminded. "Will isn't here for _me._ "

Clint crossed his arms in front of his chest, lips down turned. "Bullshit. You're _my_ family just as much as Nat and the team. Will's here to get to know you. And he's bringing his team so I can get to know _them._ "

Phil swallowed. It'd taken so damned long to get here, to get through all of Clint's defenses, to scale his own not insignificant issues, and to finally be together. It still took his breath away that he had all of this: not just a lover, but a _family._

Stepping into Clint's space, he tugged his lover's arms down, wrapped them around his waist, encircled his around Clint and buried his nose in Clint's hair. "Forgive me. I'm still not sure--"

Clint's arms tightened, then he tipped his head back to meet Phil's eyes. "It's been great having Will in my life, I won't say it's not. But I _need_ you. I want us to try this whole ridiculous thing. Thanksgiving with all of us. I worry about Ethan and Tony in the same room…"

"Those two are too much alike for anyone's safety. We'll just have to make sure Benji's always a buffer. And Steve can run interference. Everyone loves Steve."

Clint snorted. "No one loves Steve as much as _you._ "

Before Phil could protest and declare that the only Avenger he loved was Clint, his lips were seized in a filthy, hot, dirty press of lips and tongue. Phil moaned into it, his fears dissipating under the intensity of Clint's love.

 _Sir?_ Jarvis interrupted and Clint dragged his lips away slowly.

"Yeah, J?"

_The others have arrived and are on their way up. Shall I delay them?_

Clint, mussed and flushed, raised an eyebrow at Phil.

"That won't be necessary, Jarvis. Agent Barton and I are ready. Can you please inform the rest of the team to meet us in the common area?"

_Already done, sir._

"Perfect," Phil answered. He offered his hand to Clint and turned them toward the hallway. It might be a disaster in the making, but weren't most family holidays?

The End


End file.
